


feeling how i feel, i'll accept the unreal

by smallredboy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Bisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Crush at First Sight, Developing Relationship, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), F/M, First Kiss, Gay Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, so no az/ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Crowley falls for a human girl.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	feeling how i feel, i'll accept the unreal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaintedVanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/gifts).

> happy early birthday collette!!! youre a wonderful friend and here you have your Crowley Is In Love With U fic.
> 
> as much as i tagged this as OFC, its more a friend-insert! 
> 
> enjoy!

The main charm about humans and everything they stood for was that it was  _ fickle _ . Human culture changed fast, at least in the eyes of an immortal occult being such as Crowley. It shifted and molded into something different; most humans died before even reaching a century of life. They were quick, to the point, driven in a way that was incomparable to Heaven  _ or _ Hell. They were better than angels and demons because they had the seeds of both in them; they were evil and good and everything in between, all while stuck in such a short lifespan. So they did the best out of what they got.

Crowley sighs as he sinks down into a chair in a café. He's out of place— it's all cheery colors, bright hues and splashes that don't sit well with his look of a leather jacket, black jeans and his black hair (he's sure that's what in fashion for humans these days). He doesn't look like he should be here. But something calls to him, like an unstoppable magnet, telling him  _ here, here, here, something is here _ . 

He notices that something is a someone (a some  _ human _ ) when he looks around and his eyes fall on the prettiest woman he has ever seen.

He is not a fan of superlatives, but he wracks his head for one he has seen who's more beautiful than this  _ girl _ and he falls on empty. Even all those ruler women who got wars started on their beauty truly couldn't compare, Cleopatra and all of them. 

Her hair is short, brushing against her jaw, a mouse-brown; her eyes shine with curiosity, her skin pale against the fluorescent lights above in the ceiling. Her lips quirk on a smile, and her glance is downward, towards a book. Well, he seems to have a type for bookworms. Their minds are always interesting to delve into, pick apart, get something out of their rambles about fine literature. At least, that's what he thought after being in love with Aziraphale for thousands of years. He had gone  _ crazy _ when writing was invented.

He swallows. He has to talk to her. He  _ has _ to. But how is he supposed to approach humans? Now and then he causes chaos, he makes their lives a little or a lot harder, he drags them a little closer to Hell in a basis of thousands at a time. But his actual conversations with humans are very far and between. He prefers to observe them, what they're like, so he can blend in with the crowd. All while wearing sunglasses indoors. He's blending in with the crowd while looking like an asshole. Ah, he can deal with it.

He's going to have to improvise, though.

He walks up to her table, a cup of tea next to her book, and hovers awkwardly until her head snaps up. She blushes, a pretty strawberry red that fills up her cheeks.

"Hi, pretty lady," he says, attempting (keyword: attempting) to sound alluring.

(She falls for it. Completely.)

"Hi," she stammers out. Her voice is not as high as he pictured, nothing near grating to his ears. It's a nice voice.

"What's your name?" he asks. He pauses for a second. "Can I sit here?"

She's  _ giddy _ . He doesn't quite get it. He's not a charming fellow, not the romantic lead in the movies he secretly binges (which Aziraphale always finds out about, and always teases him lightly about, before he curls up next to him as they watch some terrible Hallmark romcom). He just has sunglasses, looks vaguely like he should be in a bad rock band that'll never break away from the local scene, and he's a demon.

"You can," she allows, so he sits down. "I'm Collette. You?"

"Ah, I'm Anthony. It's a pleasure to meet you, Collette."

She grins at him, tilts her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Anthony." She pauses, swallows audibly. "Anything you need?"

"Well, I did call you pretty," he blurts out.

She stares; he nearly wilts into the floor, escaping the situation by shape-shifting into a ball of dust, before she laughs. It's a wheezy laugh, the kind that's so  _ human _ it makes him ache for it.

"Is that your way of asking for a date?" she says with wide eyes, an eager smile. She's cute. She's so goddamn cute.

Crowley swallows. "Yeah. I guess it is."

Collette beams. "Sure. I guess our date starts now, then. Tell me about yourself."

Fuck. He's never been good at that part. Especially when he has to hide his whole, you know, being a demon thing. He swallows. "Well, I was raised Christian. I'm twenty-three. I'm a big fan of Queen."

"Really?" she exclaims. "Me too!"

That's the last bit Crowley needs. The last bit of bait for him to want her, want her even more than he did when he first saw her. It's as dumb and predictable as her being into his favorite band. But goddammit, he's predictable. He's a sucker for habit.

"What's your favorite song of theirs?" he asks, leaning his chin into his palm.

* * *

The string of dates afterwards is a blur. A very, very happy blur. Yellow hues all over— the happiest color he can think of. Ice cream, angel cake they share over dinner (he tries not to chuckle, tries not to let it slip to her), afternoons, the sun going down in the horizon as they held hands. He's happy to the bone, an infection he hopes no one but Aziraphale notices. He teases him, coaxes him into talking about his latest human.

(He hasn't done this whole thing many times before. Collette is the third human he has ever dated. The first two were one after the other, a thousand years ago. He learned he can't cope quite well with human lifespans, so he has retreated into his shell ever since. He can't get too close to a specific human, he has to admire them as a group. But sometimes that plan goes awry.)

There's a few moments he can remember with ease, though, that will always be at the back of his mind.

"Why don't you let me see your eyes?" Collette asked, ice cream melting in her mouth.

"I just don't like taking my sunglasses off," he said, stiffly.

"Even indoors," she pointed out, making a vague hand motion. "Makes you look like an ass."

He huffed. "Yeah." She froze a little, as if she had said the wrong thing, so he gave her a small, nervous smile. His hand found his jeans, tugging at them to get rid of the nerves. He had to lie, to invent something, so she wouldn't pester him about his eyes. God, he didn't want her to know. Not yet, not yet. "I'm very photo sensitive," he said. It wasn't a  _ lie _ ; too much light did make him feel awful. "So I use sunglasses— yes, even indoors— so I won't, y'know, have a migraine. Plus, my eyes are not the best thing in the world. Pretty average." Now  _ that _ was a lie.

Collette had cleared her throat, looking up at him with wide, almost terse eyes. God, he would never be able to break the news to her. "Okay. Take your time." She swallowed and leaned in to hold his hand; squeezed once, twice.

He squeezed back, his stomach lurching. He enjoyed being so close to someone, but he didn't  _ enjoy _ it. It was terrifying.

He sighs as he keeps replaying the memory in his head, his sunglasses perched up on his nightstand. Aziraphale is next to him in the bed, reading some book he can't bring himself to put down so he can cuddle Crowley. He has to be vocal about these things, usually, and he is not being vocal about it. 

"How am I supposed to tell her?" he asks, apropos of nothing, staring at the wall of their bedroom.

"Good question," Aziraphale replies, not looking up from his book. "How did you tell the others?"

He gives him a shrug.  _ How did he tell them? _ They could just sort of tell. He didn't wear sunglasses much back then, they saw his eyes first thing. Now he has to hide them, now he  _ can _ hide them, and Collette has not seen his eyes, not even once.

"I… didn't quite tell them. They just. Could tell."

Aziraphale finally looks away from his book and leans in to kiss his cheek. "And they stayed with you even though they could tell, right?"

"Yes," he concedes. "But now I've been leading her on! Hell, I told her a fake human age and pretended I went to a Catholic school. She thinks I'm one of theirs! How am I supposed to break it to her?"

Aziraphale leans in and rubs his arm comfortingly. "You just have to. You'll be fine, love. I'm sure she won't care."

"I'm a  _ demon _ ," he hisses out. "Of course she'll fuckin' care. Ngk." He shakes his head. "I'm going to sleep more. I'm getting a headache."

Aziraphale nods. "Okay, dear boy. Just tell her, okay? You'll break eventually, so better do it soon."

Crowley hates how right his husband is. He leans in to kiss his jaw before getting back into bed. Soon enough he's fast asleep, his body shutting down as he ignores the stress and the fear that comes with telling Collette, his new beloved, about who he really is.

* * *

For their next (and perhaps last) date, Crowley invites her to the bookshop.

"So," he starts as he walks into the shop, Aziraphale behind the counter, nose buried in some leather-bound book. "Before we get any further with like, things." He waves his hands around. "I have to tell you a few things."

"Okay." Collette smiles at him, and he can't help but think that oh Lord, she's so naive. He has to break it to her that he's married, he has to break it to her that he's a demon. If she doesn't run away, he'll be shocked. "What is it?"

"Well, um, I'm married, and I'm polyamorous. My husband's here. Aziraphale, c'mon."

Aziraphale looks up and blushes. He tilts his head at the sight of her before giving Crowley an understanding look. He might not care for women or women-shaped beings in the least, but he can see the appeal. At least that's what Crowley gets from that look, anyway.

"Oh!" She raises her brows. "I didn't know, and I didn't expect it, but I think I'm up for, y'know, figuring this out. Aziraphale, your name is?"

"Yes," he smiles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, dear girl. Anthony has been talking a lot about you."

Crowley hisses, blood rushing to his cheeks as he glances off at Aziraphale.

"Oh, really? That's sweet." She's blushing a little too. She glances at Aziraphale again. "What an odd name. Aziraphale."

"Well," Crowley interrupts. "That's — the other thing, the other thing I meant to tell you." He swallows. "I don't expect you to believe me without proof, and even then you'll have your doubts, but—"

"Anthony," Aziraphale tells him. "Just take off your sunglasses already."

He sighs and does so, pulling off his sunglasses and stepping closer to Collette, putting a hand on her side lightly.

"I'm a demon. I'm the serpent. I haven't taken off my sunglasses around you because— because of  _ this _ ."

Collette swallows, looking up at him. Her eyes widen. "They're not contacts?" she breathes.

"No. They're not. This isn't a prank. And Aziraphale's name is like that because, well, because he's an angel."

"Oh." She turns around toward Aziraphale, expecting something incredible, some sign of his divinity— and there it is, his wings unfurled, big white things. "Well. I— I believe you."

Crowley sighs out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"And I think I can work around you being a demon."

"I was the serpent," he says again. "The one at Eden. The one who tempted Eve."

"Oh!" Collette has this dumb little grin on her face as she steps toward him, puts a hand on his side. It's the greatest grin he has ever seen on a human. "A  _ famous _ demon, then. What a privilege."

Of all the reactions in the world, he didn't expect this one. Maybe she still does believe he really can't love (being a demon and all, it's a valid belief to hold), maybe she doesn't, maybe she's taking this as an elaborate prank. 

He can deal with all of that later. All his anxieties disappear when she leans in and kisses him oh so sweetly.

He smiles against her lips hard, wriggling as he wraps his arms around her. 

After weeks, he can breathe. After weeks, he can kiss the human girl of his dreams.


End file.
